


When Mary Met Sally

by MissDavis



Series: Consolation Prizes [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Ficlet, First Meeting, Gen, I honestly have no idea how to tag this, Missing Scene, everyone is alive still, given the characters it's about, i love sally and mary though, i love sherlock and john too, set post-Rosie's birth, they're just not in this ficlet, though it doesn't really matter because i know the audience is limited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 13:55:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14310129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissDavis/pseuds/MissDavis
Summary: Sally stops by Baker Street with a case but finds out that Sherlock isn't home.





	When Mary Met Sally

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vulgarweed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vulgarweed/gifts).



> Written as part of the [ 221b-Consolation Fest](https://221b-consolation.tumblr.com/) for vulgarweed, who knows how I feel about Mary and Sally and gave me this prompt: _  
> we never see them meet in canon, but I'd love some kind of conversation or interaction between Mary and Sally._
> 
> This can be read alone or it could follow from the first work in the series.

Sally rang the bell again, leaning on the buzzer longer this time, cursing under her breath. It was bloody cold out, and if Sherlock was upstairs watching from the window while she stood here freezing, she was going to—

The door opened and Sally took an involuntary step back in surprise. It wasn't Sherlock standing in front of her; it was a woman. Not his landlady, but a younger woman, holding a baby. John Watson's wife, obviously, though why she was answering the door at Baker Street, Sally didn't know. "Er, hello." Sally gave her best professional smile. "You must be Mrs. Watson." 

"Yeah. Mary." The woman shifted the baby on her hip and peered down at Sally. She wasn't very tall, but standing on the stoop gave her a significant height advantage. Sally could feel herself being measured—her gaze was almost as penetratingly analytical as Sherlock's. She shivered; hopefully Mary would be more tactful than Sherlock and refrain from deducing her sex life. Not that she had much of a sex life at the moment. 

After a few seconds of staring at her, Mary wrinkled her nose and said, "You're the one who works with Lestrade, right? Donovan?"

"Yes, Detective Sergeant Sally Donovan." She didn't particularly want this Mary woman to call her by her first name, but it felt rude not to give it to her after she'd shared her own. "Is Sherlock in?"

"Do you have a case for him?" Mary's eyes brightened. 

"Not me, Lestrade does." She lifted the thick case file she held in her hand, noted how eagerly Mary's gaze tracked the movement. "He's upset that I beat him in darts at the pub last Friday so he made me run out here to talk to—Sherlock." She re-thought her use of the phrase "the freak" at the last moment. Mary looked like she'd react about as well as her husband did to anyone insulting Sherlock.

The baby began to fuss in her arms and Mary raised her to her shoulder and began to sway from side to side. "Well, Sherlock and John went out a couple hours ago, but they promised they'd be home in time for dinner, so they should be back soon. You want to come in and wait for them?" She took a step backward into the building, then glanced behind herself, toward the stairs. "I mean, the flat's a mess, but it always is. You've been here before, right?"

"Er, yeah." Drugs busts, arresting Sherlock right before he killed himself—she'd been here before. She swallowed and followed Mary inside.

The flat was cluttered, of course, but it actually seemed cleaner than it had been the other times she'd been here, and she told Mary as much. 

"Yeah, I've been working on him. It's a project." Mary picked up a handful of colored pencils that were strewn across the coffee table and put them into a mug on the desk, then grabbed a plush rattle from a travel cot in the corner and set the baby on the floor to play with it. The room had been childproofed, to a certain extent—everything dangerous had been moved to the desk or shelves higher than waist-height, and there was an extendable baby gate blocking the path into the kitchen. 

"Do you live here?" Sally asked.

Mary shrugged. "We haven't sold our place, but we hardly ever spend time there anymore. I go over to pick up the post when I need a break from Rosie and the boys are around to watch her." She smiled at the baby—Rosie—and Sally wondered what it must be like, to have a daughter and try to fit her safely into a life in this flat. 

"I can put on tea, if you'd like," Mary said. She took a few steps toward the kitchen, then stopped when the phone sticking out of her back pocket dinged. "That's John, let me see where they are." She turned to face Sally but shielded the phone's screen as she read it, then moved her hand. Sally wondered what kind of private information she'd feared the text might contain. 

Mary looked up at her. "They're going to be another thirty minutes, at least. But...." She glanced at Rosie again, who had abandoned her rattle in favor of a thick plastic drumstick that she was using to bang on the floor. "I will make some tea, and then you can show me the file you brought over for Sherlock. I bet between the two of us, we won't need his help at all."


End file.
